Breakfast at Manny's

After a while she slipped away to the bathroom, and when she returned I did the same thing. When I lay down beside her, she came back into my arms. After a while I licked her ear and then began to trace soft kisses down her neck. She made a sound like a cat purring.

Abruptly I rolled her over on top of me and pulled her body higher so that my lips had access to her breasts. I began to play with a nipple using my tongue and teeth, and the little sounds coming from her throat told me how much she was enjoying what I was doing. I repeated my erotic torture on her other breast, and I could feel her hips twitch involuntarily as she began to feel the sensations not only in her breasts but also deep within her.

When she began to moan again, I reached for her hips and pushed her body lower on my torso. She gasped when she felt my erect penis prodding her bottom, and, after shifting to find her entrance, I pushed again so that she was impaled on me. Then I used my hands to encourage her hips to start a rocking motion, and she quickly took over, sliding herself up and back on my length.

After a few minutes, she lifted herself to a sitting position to give her greater freedom of movement and, placing her hands on my chest, she began to rock a little faster. Something about her motion felt exquisite to me, and I realized that it wouldn't be long before I would cum again. I must have been in just the right spot inside her, because suddenly her head shot back and her unseeing eyes stared at the ceiling. She began rocking her hips frantically, desperate to increase the sensations pulsing within her vagina. "Oh, oh, oh!" she began to gasp, each word rising higher in pitch. Then with a long "Ohhhh" she went rigid and we both hit the peak. She collapsed on my chest and I thrust into her a few more times before I too went slack.

When we finally roused ourselves, we returned to the bathroom and showered together. As I soaped her enticing body, I began to grow aroused again, but she reluctantly pushed me away. "I want to, but I have to get back home and I have a long drive," she told me, kissing me to remove any sting from her refusal.

Having dressed and checked our appearance, we left the room and went downstairs. As we walked out into the sunlight of Grand Army Plaza, she turned to me and stopped. "I want to see you again," she said, and my thoughts began to swirl. This whole interlude had been a lark for me, a chance encounter that I couldn't resist but hadn't intended to repeat. Yet something about Deirdre stirred me deeply. Yes, she was gorgeous, and yes, the sex had been mind-blowing, but I felt there was something more, a deeper connection.

At the same time, a warning siren was going off in my head: "She's a married woman. You don't want to get involved in an affair. Nothing good will come of this." I knew all that was true, but something stronger stirred within me.

I grabbed her hands so that we were face to face. "I want that very much," I told her sincerely. It took me only a few minutes to work out a plan with her. We'd meet again in a week, but this time at someplace more discreet. I gave her the name and address of a little boutique hotel and we agreed on a time. She threw her arms around me and kissed me intensely, then she jumped into a waiting taxi to take her back to her car. As the cab was pulling out, she rolled down the window. "I can't wait," she said breathlessly, and then she was gone.

Riding to the law firm in my own cab, I kept reliving the morning. I could never have imagined such an encounter; now I couldn't stop thinking about it. My initial elation was soon followed by a bout of guilt. I had deceived her, taken her under false pretenses. But following a few minutes of shame I suddenly realized I was wrong. She had set out to meet a stranger, someone she didn't know. True, I hadn't been the one who responded to whatever invitation she had put out on whatever website or chat room she had used, but what difference did that make? I was a stranger, we'd met and we'd clicked -- oh boy how we'd clicked! The process by which we'd found each other was irrelevant, I rationalized, no different than if we'd chanced to meet at a bar.

I spent the next week thinking about her. It seemed to take an eternity, but when the appointed date finally came, I was waiting for Deirdre on the sidewalk outside the small hotel fifteen minutes early. I'd already secured a room, not wanting to waste any of our time together.

When her cab pulled up to the curb, I was there to open the door for her, and I could see how pleased she was. We walked into the lobby hand in hand, but when we got into the elevator, she dropped my hand, looked down at the floor, and, said in a small voice, "I'm sorry I kept you waiting. Are you going to discipline me?"

Instantly I realized what she wanted and I resumed my dominant role. "I will decide what is appropriate, not you," I said harshly.

She didn't say anything, but I thought I saw a hint of approval on her lips.

Once we were in the room, she stepped in front of the bed and stood silently before me with her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes cast down. "Remove your blouse and skirt but retain your underwear and shoes," I demanded in a stern tone.

She did so quickly and I almost gasped out loud. Her conservative attire had concealed a black bustier with cups that barely concealed her nipples. The bottom of the bustier doubled as a garter belt holding up smoky black stockings. On her hips were skimpy black panties, and when she turned to the side to drape her skirt over a chair, I realized they were actually a thong. Once she had finished, she resumed her previous position, not looking at me.

I sat down on the bed beside her. "I am not going to discipline you, because discipline is for adults. But today you were tardy like a schoolgirl, and you deserve to punished like the naughty girl you are," I proclaimed. I saw her shiver, but before she could speak, I grabbed her and pulled her down across my lap. Then I proceeded to paddle her exposed buttocks with my hand, being careful not to hit her so hard as to leave bruises but definitely making sure to turn her backside bright red. She began to whimper, and I could see tears trickling from her eyes.

Quickly I grasped her upper arms and shifted her so she was lying face down on the bed. Then I grabbed pillows from the head of the bed and stuffed them under her hips, elevating and supporting them. Having positioned her to my liking, I alternated stripping off my own clothes with running my fingers over her bottom and the crotch of her thong. I was not surprised to find the latter soaking wet with her arousal.

"Your punishment is not over," I warned her ominously before yanking her thong to one side and ramming my erection into her enticing depths. She gave a little yelp, but then began to respond vigorously to my intrusions. As I thrust in and out of her, I began to fondle her beautiful ass cheeks. I guess the pain must have dissipated because she began to coo approvingly. Then I let my fingers slip across her little brown hole, and she gave a startled gasp.

I reached down and retrieved the lubricant I had brought with me. After squirting a little on my middle finger, I began to rub it around her anus, and her moans took on a different tone. Then I applied pressure and my slippery finger slid into her depths. She yelped, and I felt certain this was something else her husband had never done.

I applied more lube and then inserted a second finger. "Ohhh!" she exclaimed, and I thought at first I might be hurting her, but the motion of her hips reassured me. I began to rotate my fingers and thrust them in and out of her, producing deep groans as her body stretched to accommodate them. All the while I continued the smooth rhythmic stroking of my cock into her now gaping pussy.

Suddenly, I pulled my penis out of her, and when she complained, I replaced it with my thumb, rubbing and stroking her while keeping two fingers in her other hole. With my other hand, I applied a large dollop of lubricant to my penis and spread it around thickly. Then I pressed my torso back down on her back, pulled my finders out of her and began to replace them with my cock. It took her a second to realize what I was doing, but then she cried out, "No! I've never done that . . ."

"Be quiet!" I thundered. "I told you that you would be punished. Now be a good girl and accept it."

My voice seemed to have an immediate effect on her, and I could see the muscles in her shoulders and arms relax. Seizing the opportunity, I continued to exert pressure and suddenly the head of my penis penetrated the ring of muscle guarding her interior. She cried out in a mixture of pain and fear, and I held absolutely still.

After a minute or two, when she had made no further sounds, I cautiously pressed again, and my cock slid deeper inside her. As I did so, she gave a guttural moan. "It's so deep," she gasped, but I realized that I'd heard no pain in her voice. I withdrew slightly, then slid back in again. Once more she gave a long "Ohhh," but I did not stop this time. Instead I began to lengthen my stroke, listening carefully for her response. At first she only repeated her "Ohhs," but I heard her give an "Uhh" when I reached bottom. Soon she was grunting on every stroke and I began to accelerate. Now the "Uhhs" had changed to an almost continuous grunt that sounded like something from some animal. Every time I pulled back she began to pant for breath, and every time I plunged back in her grunting transformed into a little scream. Suddenly she began to thrust back against me. "Harder," she cried, "Don't stop, don't stop!" Then she screamed at the top of her lungs and I exploded inside her.

I'm not sure if I lost consciousness, but when I regained my full senses I rolled her over so that we were off the pillows and spooned together. I reached down and pulled the sheet over the two of us, and we lay like that for a long time. She reached up to take my hand and began to stroke my fingers.

Suddenly she turned so she could face me. "I can't believe . . ." she started and then fell silent. "I've never. . ." she tried again, and again stopped. Finally she said, "That was so incredible, so intense."

I kissed her lips softly. "For me too," I told her.

Shortly after we'd cleaned up, we made love again. This time it was tender and gentle, with each of us relishing the intimacy of the moment and enjoying the ability to give pleasure to the other. It was different but every bit as satisfying as the wild lust we'd experienced earlier.

Later, I was the one who asked, "Can you come next week?"

"Oh, yes," she replied instantly. She lowered her eyes a moment, then looked deeply into mine. "I thought of nothing else all last week. I couldn't wait to be together with you today, and now I need you even more."

I hugged her to me. "I feel exactly the same way," I told her.

We made our plans and then I walked her to the street and hailed a cab for her. I watched until she drove out of sight, and before she disappeared I saw her turn and blow me a kiss through the rear window.

The following week when she alit from the cab outside the hotel, I knew instantly that something was wrong. She didn't smile or speak, just gripped my hand tightly and hurried with me into the lobby and up the elevator. When we got in the room, she threw herself into my arms and began to weep.

"What is it, Deirdre?" I asked anxiously, "what's happened?"

She led me to the bed and sat down beside me on it. It took her a minute to compose herself. Finally she said, "I'm so scared: I think my husband has found out about us. He's been acting very suspiciously, calling me at odd times from work, checking our phone bill for strange numbers, and lots more."

"I feel so guilty," she went on. "I know I shouldn't be doing this." She took my hands and clasped them to her breast. "But I don't want to stop seeing you. You've made me feel things I've never felt before, and I can't stop thinking about them."

She paused and looked down. Then, seeming to find her courage, she looked in my eyes again. "And it's not just the sex, it's being with you. Even just walking down Fifth Avenue hand in hand . . ." Her courage faltered and she stopped abruptly.

"I know I shouldn't say things like this to you -- it's too fast and I'm afraid I'll scare you away, but I can't help myself," she said, and the tears began to flow again.

I quickly took her in my arms. "It's alright," I soothed, "you're not scaring me."

She looked at me doubtfully. "I'm not?"

"No," I said strongly, "you're not. I feel the same way about you. You've taken over my thoughts, I dream about you at night, I can't wait till the next time I can see you."

She came into my arms. "Oh, God," she exclaimed, "I was so afraid you'd leave me."

"I can't," I told her honestly. "I won't."

We lay down on the bed, still holding each other. "What are we going to do?" she asked tremulously.

"Don't talk now," I urged. "Let's just hold each other and share this moment."

She began to kiss me urgently, and I responded in kind. Soon we were tearing each other's clothes off, desperate to be as close to one another as possible. This wasn't just sex, it was making love, beautiful and touching yet tinged by the fear of what the future might bring.

Later, neither of us wanted to leave, but fear of arousing further suspicion in her husband prevented us from prolonging our rendezvous. "At least give me your phone number so I can call and check up on you," I begged her.

She looked at me in horror. "Oh, God, I can't. What if he has our phone tapped?"

"Then at least swear to me that you'll be here next week, no matter what," I demanded.

"I swear with all my heart," she said fiercely, and then she pulled me to her as though I was a life preserver in a stormy sea. I felt the same way.

Before she got into the cab this time, she turned back and kissed me gently on the lips. "I love you," she whispered so no one else could hear. Then she started to go, but I grabbed her and pulled her back into my arms. "I love you too," I told her, and then she was gone.

My mind was troubled for the rest of the day. I thought about Deirdre and worried about what would happen with her husband. I thought about myself and was dumbfounded at what I had gotten myself into. But overlying all my thoughts and fears was the certainty that I did truly love her. That realization gave me the confidence to believe we'd find some way to straighten out this tangled mess and be together from now on.

Shortly after I arrived at Manny's on Friday morning for breakfast, the place began to fill with customers, and soon there was a cluster waiting for seating. I noticed a man looking around and motioned him over to my table. He quickly came and sat down, and after he had ordered his coffee he looked at me oddly.

"I didn't know if you'd be willing to see me," he said.

"Another one," I thought to myself, and smiled inwardly. I could use a diversion from my concerns.

I knew just what to say to get started. "Of course I would," I told him confidently. "Why shouldn't I?" Then I sat there and waited. I'd long since learned the power of silence to impel others to do the talking.

After an awkward silence, he sighed, and I knew I had succeeded. "This is hard," he said, "but here it is: I want you to stop seeing my wife."

A cold metal hand seemed to grip my chest. "Oh my God!" I thought, "it's Deirdre's husband!" I didn't speak a word, but only because I was so astonished to confront him that I didn't know what to say.

Finally he went on. "I know I haven't been the best husband, haven't given her the time and attention she needs and deserves. But the thing is, I love her, and I want you to stop seeing her!"

Now I knew I had to speak. "I don't know if I can do that," I said slowly, "because I'm in love with her too."

He stared at me in amazement. "No you're not," he protested, "you're just using her. She's just a piece of ass to you, a way to get your rocks off."

That made me angry. "You couldn't be more wrong," I said strongly. "I love her, and what's more, she loves me too."

He stood up then, and I did as well so he wouldn't have the advantage. His face was flushed with anger. I noticed other people in the restaurant staring at us curiously.

He shook his finger in my face. "I'm warning you," he said, "stay away from her. I mean it."

I thought he might take a shot at me, but he turned away as if to leave and I dropped my guard. Suddenly he spun around punched me right on the jaw before I could defend myself. The blow knocked me to the floor and stunned me. In a daze I looked up to see him standing over me menacingly. "It's over -- stay away from her," he shouted. I raised my hands to try to ward off the next blow, but he turned on his heel and stalked out the door and into the stream of people outside.

Manny scrambled over to help me. "Are you alright?" he asked anxiously, "do you need an ambulance? Should I call the police?"

"No," I told him, staggering to my feet, "I think I'll be okay."

"Sit down," he said, and I was glad to obey. He darted away and swiftly returned with a bag of ice. "Put this on your jaw," he commanded. "It'll help keep the swelling down."

So I sat there in embarrassment, holding the ice bag to my sore jaw while the other diners pretended not to notice me.

The people at the office were concerned when I showed up that afternoon with a bruised and swollen face, but after I told them I'd been slugged by a deranged street person they began to tease me about picking fights with weirdos. If only they'd known!

Fortunately, Manny's ice bag minimized the swelling and bruising so that after a few days you couldn't tell that I'd been sucker-punched. My jaw was still sore to the touch, but I was relieved that it wasn't so visible because I didn't want Deirdre to be scared. If her husband came after me again, I'd be ready.

In an odd sort of way, I was relieved I'd had the run-in with him. Now the cards were all out on the table and she and I wouldn't have to sneak around any longer. If she was willing, I was going to ask her to move in with me; there was no longer any reason to keep up a pretence.

I even did some rearranging in my apartment to accommodate whatever things Deirdre might want to bring with her. To be honest, the place was too large for just one person, so I felt confident she would be comfortable there.

On the day of our next encounter, I couldn't wait to tell her what I had done, and once again I found myself on the sidewalk outside the hotel half an hour early. Time anticipated is time decelerated, and I grew ever more impatient as I paced up and down.

Finally, a taxi appeared, but when I opened the door, out came an elderly couple who seemed to be from out of town. The baggage the cabbie pulled out of the trunk confirmed my guess.

I resumed my pacing, trying to distract myself by reviewing what I wanted to say to Deirdre when she arrived. Depending on how she reacted, we might even go directly to my place so I could show her around, I thought with pleasure. After a while I halted my little fantasies to check the time and was shocked to discover that it was past the appointed hour.

What could have happened to her? Probably she was late leaving home, or perhaps her cab was stuck in traffic, I rationalized at first. Then paranoia set in. What if her husband had done something to her? No, that was crazy talk, I told myself. He loved her -- he'd never harm her. But what if he'd persuaded her to go back to the marriage? What if she'd hit her head and had amnesia? What if she'd been abducted by aliens?

Scenarios began to multiply in my head until I felt dizzy. I went inside the hotel and took a seat in the lobby. Ultimately I waited two full hours before admitting to myself that she wasn't coming. I called the law firm and told them I was sick and wouldn't be in until tomorrow. Then I went back to my apartment and lay down. The truth was that I didn't feel well, but I got no rest.